


Meteor Seeds

by PunkHazard



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Apocalypse, huge timeskip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: Rufus Shinra cryogenically freezes himself and his Turks in a last-ditch attempt to stave off the effects of Geostigma; he offers AVALANCHE the same as a gesture of goodwill, hoping that in the near future science will have progressed far enough to find a cure. They wake up to a world entirely unlike the one they went to sleep in.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Sometime in his mid teens, Rufus had adopted an authoritative inflection in his voice more in line with his future position as the President of Shinra Electric, the occasional, awkward squeakiness of it notwithstanding. Before then it had been petulant, entitled, the tone of a boy who's never wanted for anything, who believed he could do whatever he wanted and force others to bend to his every whim. 'If you don't do exactly as I wish,' it had declared, 'I'm going to do something really awful and annoying.'

"Tseng?"

It was also, Tseng considers as he approaches, sometime in his mid-teens that Rufus first began to undermine the company. 'I have taken control of my future,' his voice screamed. 'Fear me.' 

Only in his thirties, debilitated by the middle-late stages of Geostigma, did Rufus's voice ever take on a note of uncertainty. 

"I'm here," Tseng answers, one hand settling lightly on Rufus's shoulder, warm through the thin material of his hospital scrubs. Just enough pressure to hint to his proximity. "Everything's ready to go."

He'd made a point of not touching Rufus. For years Tseng would take his coat, hold doors open, pass him documents-- they were within arms' reach more often than not, but Tseng wouldn't touch him. A shadow is reactive, it exists in a different _plane_ , so for as long as they've known each other, Tseng kept his hands to himself. Only when Rufus had difficulty standing, changing, eating, staying conscious, did the Turk finally close that distance. 

'Too bad,' Rufus had once remarked, unbandaged eye on an oozing, coal-colored rash on his arm as Tseng changed the dressings. 'You have to see me like this.' 

Now, Rufus frowns. The sore at the corner of his mouth, dark with stigma, cracks as he reaches blindly forward, palm sliding against Tseng's lapel before he curls his fingers around the fabric and straightens it again, pressing the material smooth. He hasn't been able to see out of either eye for days. 

Elena's voice rings out, firm and sure. "We'll be right behind you, Mr. President."

"You won't get rid of us that easily," Reno drawls. 

The stretch and creak of leather gloves is Rude's contribution, so familiar to Rufus's ears now that he can practically see the man's fingers flex, knuckles shifting under worn mesh and Marlboro skin.

Tseng lets Rufus's hand drop on its own before he curls his fingers around the latch's edge, preparing to pull it shut. He had volunteered, in a sense, to watch over the capsules until Rufus and the others could be brought out of cryostasis, but Rufus refused. He never had a problem with sending his Turks away, but this time he'd asked Tseng to stay with him. Rufus Shinra was always lean but months of Geostigma left him emaciated, in pain, and though he'd never admit it-- afraid. 

Tseng had conceded to a week's delay, enough time to wrap up loose ends without allowing Rufus's health to deteriorate even further after a drastic turn for the worse. The Turks would be with him in sleep and with him when he awoke. Cold, meager comfort, but it seemed to soothe him nonetheless.

"I'm here," Tseng says again. He watches Rufus settle into the padded lining of his capsule, golden brows unfurrowing. The IV in the back of his hand, attached to a different kind of drip now, stayed secure. Tseng waits for Rufus's eyes to slip shut, dragged into unconsciousness by the particular cocktail of chemicals designed to knock him out and preserve his organs in cryostasis. 

He closes the hatch.

Rude approaches near-silently, nothing but the rustle of cloth and his sure, even stride to indicate it. Unlike his direct superior, Rude has always been tactile. He puts a hand on Tseng's shoulder, a solid weight, and squeezes briefly before letting go.

Tseng had grown up with Rufus, in a way. They were in each others' peripheries from the day Tseng joined Shinra as a child, often the only two close to the same age when they had reason to be in a room together. Tseng was too well-trained to seek out the heir to Shinra Electric himself for company and Rufus too proud to approach a Turk in training, but by the time Tseng was first assigned to Rufus under Veld's watchful eye, they were well acquainted. 

A decade and a half later, Rufus would consider losing Tseng equivalent to losing an arm, or a leg, or a lung. 

"One week," says Tseng, composing himself. He turns to watch Reno tap his nightstick against his shoulder, Elena adjusting the holster under her arm. "The Remnants have gone into hiding, likely to bide their time until Geostigma takes care of anyone in a position to stop them. We find them if we can. We do everything in our power to assist AVALANCHE if they encounter them. If they don't stick their heads out, we go under. The scientists have been instructed to continue their research, and revive us if and when they reappear."

He receives three nods, eerie in their synchronicity and the dim, mako-tinged lights. This far underground it's the closest, most inexhaustible form of energy. In the last eight months, Reeve had developed a method to recycle mako instead of deplete it-- a stopgap while humanity learned to wean itself off mako energy.

Reno and Rude share a look. "We're heading out," Reno announces, turning on his heels with Rude close behind.

Elena turns her gaze on Tseng. No longer the wide-eyed rookie, but a professional, and a friend. Shoulders squared, hands clasped behind her back. "My orders?"

"Run backup for Reno and Rude. Something happens to them, I'm the first to know."

Elena snaps off a clean salute, a brisk, "Understood." Then she pauses, peering up at him with something akin to concern. "And you, boss?"

Tseng exhales. "I've got a meeting."

* * *

Wallace shifts awkwardly in his seat, hands folded across the table. His prosthetic flexes-- nerves, or something else-- and he squints at Tseng. He hadn't responded with the explosive hostility that Tseng expected, but he hadn't exactly set out tea and cookies, either. Marlene peers at them from the living room, poking her head around the corner. However much she remembers of Tseng, he can't have left _too_ terrible of an impression after dropping her off with Elmyra.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Barret says. 

"The terms are laid out here," Tseng answers, indicating the folder in front of him with a tilt of his head. "President Shinra is extending the offer to your team, and any of the children in your care who are in advanced stages of Geostigma."

Barret flicks the documents away, returning it to Tseng's side of the table. He leans back in his seat, expression grim. "What makes you think any of us who _don't_ have Geostigma want to get involved in this? That we're just gonna run away like you guys?"

Years of training have made taunts ineffective, and Tseng gives no visible reaction. Cryostasis would not have been his first choice; securing Jenova's remains, the Remnants' apparent objective, seemed to be a more pressing issue, but Rufus had seemed unsure, so Tseng had asked. 

Rufus said then, 'I don't want the moment I go under to be the last time we speak.' 

Veld used to berate Tseng for sentimentality in the same breath he told him not to lose it. Up to that point Rufus had been in turns philosophical, depressed, manic, angry, despairing-- but that day he'd looked calmly at Tseng out of unseeing, dull blue eyes and asked him not to leave. Tseng's resolve had crumbled instantly. He'd be embarrassed about it, if there was anyone left to be embarrassed in front of.

"We serve at the pleasure of the president," Tseng says impassively. "What remains of Shinra Electric is at your disposal, should you choose to decline cryostasis. In our case, we'd prefer to be at our peak condition in case the Remnants take longer than expected to surface."

"And where _is_ Rufus Shinra, right now?"

People don't give Barret Wallace enough credit for his shrewdness. They see his bulk, the exaggerated motions, the mirrored shades, and assume he's a brute. Shinra upper management didn't look for the cunning, the determination needed to lead an AVALANCHE cell. "That's classified," says Tseng. He doesn't feel his own expression change, but Wallace shifts in his seat, leaning forward.

"Already on ice, then." Barret pulls his shades down his nose. His eyes are dark brown, sympathetic. "It got worse?"

"We thought it best not to wait."

Barret presses his lips into a thin line, brows furrowing as he returns his sunglasses to their place. The Turks have complete faith in the science of cryostasis-- they'd have to, if they've entrusted Rufus to it. But he's not a Turk, and his people aren't Rufus Shinra. "I'm not letting anyone pump Marlene full'a chemicals," he says, decisively, "and I'm not leavin' her to fend for herself."

Tseng nods. Barret didn't expect an argument, but he finds himself just the slightest bit disappointed not to get one anyway. He's not talking to Reno, after all. "Understandable," Tseng says. "Strife?"

"Cloud thinks he's the only one who can save the world from those Remnants. Kid's always playing the hero." Whatever response he's expecting from Tseng, he doesn't get it. On some level, he knows the Turks aren't always this-- stiff. Most of the time, they've got enough sense of humor to crack a smile if they're not being outright funny. Whoever hired them hired them as much for their charisma as their discretion, though Tseng must have plenty on his mind lately. "He's not picking up my calls," Barret sighs at last. 

"We'll track him down. Lockhart?"

 _Sorry, Cloud. Set the Turks on you._ "She'll probably convince Cloud to go along with what she does."

A moment of hesitation, as Tseng processes that answer. "I'm not confident that we can safely put Red XIII in cryostasis," he continues, deciding to move on. "The process was designed for humans."

"That's fine," Barret huffs. "Him and his are gonna be around long after _we're_ gone."

"Valentine."

"Can take care of himself."

"Highwind?"

"Hey, aren't you a Turk? You should already know this." No response again. Tseng waits, ever patient, but he does quirk one skeptical brow. Like, _We're Turks, not clairvoyant_. "He'll want to stay with Shera," Barret says, "but you oughta shoot him an invite anyway. And you can ask Yuffie, but she's a little busy what with keeping Wutai running, and all."

"Regarding your charges," Tseng says, and there's a softening to his expression that could be unconscious, but given what Barret knows of the Turks, is entirely deliberate, "any terminal cases?"

 _Any dying children in your care you'd like us to take?_ "Y'all are stone cold, huh. Yeah, I'll send you the list."

Tseng nods one last time, reclaiming the documents he'd brought and slipping them into a nondescript black briefcase by his feet. "We've been coordinating with the WRO," he tells Barret as he stands. "Reeve Tuesti is the interim director for all remaining Shinra projects, and he's agreed to cooperate with Avalanche, moving forward."

"Good to hear."

Tseng ducks his head, very slightly. "Thanks for your time."

"Hey," Barret says, "I hope things work out for you."

He gets a wry smile in response. "For you as well."

* * *

The new Seventh Heaven is shabby, understaffed, covered in a thin layer of concrete dust from the construction still being done outside. Tseng had watched Tifa wipe down the bar just that morning, wringing out the rags and rinsing them over and over from his vantage point across the street. He lets himself into the bar and sits on the wobbly stool at the counter, waiting patiently for Tifa to drift back to him after serving a customer a shot of something strong and clear. It's eleven in the morning.

"You managed to track Cloud down by yourself?" she asks, sliding a glass of ice water over the counter for him.

"It's not difficult." Tseng catches the glass, and takes a polite sip. He's gotten used to the taste of twice-boiled water, anything to make it potable without Shinra processing plants sending drinkable tap even to the slums, but he can't escape the pang of nostalgia for the purified water that used to flow freely from taps all the way down to the Wall Street slums. "He's using a WRO phone."

"Reeve let you track him?"

The corner of Tseng's lip quirks. "Not precisely."

Tifa fixes him with a rueful look. "But Cloud agreed."

"Yes."

"He seems tired lately. The few times I've seen him, anyway."

"And you?"

"If Cloud is going ahead with it," she answers, "so am I. The kids will be scared when they wake up, won't they? They'll open their eyes and it's you and Reno and Rude and Rufus Shinra..."

"Are you implying that we scare children?"

"You're literally the story we tell to scare them into good behavior."

A laugh. Soft, and deep. "Flattering."

"But... how do you do it? Cryostasis is... dangerous, isn't it? Will it hurt the children?"

Tseng lets go of his glass, flicking condensation off the tips of his fingers as he makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger. "A delicate balance of Ice," he answers, "Cure and Revive materia."

He pauses to allow Tifa an adequate amount of time to process his words, her eyes following his hands as they return to his glass, idly tipping it along its bottom rim. 

"The machine cycles between them," he continues, abruptly aware of her gaze and stilling his movements, returning the glass to sit flat on the bar. Veld used to give him grief for gesturing while he spoke, so he'd developed the habit of keeping his hands clasped behind his back. It's not so easy sitting down, though. "Blizzaga to keep the body in stasis and then Curaga when its cells are weakened to the point of damage. We've built the facility deep underground, near a mako vein. It can run for centuries uninterrupted, if it came to that."

"And how do you know it works?"

"When Geostigma first began to spread, a few volunteers agreed to go under." He sees her expression grow suspicious, and internally commends her for the caution. "We've successfully put them in cryostasis and pulled them back out. Revive will be used for the... well, the revival-- once every six months, so the machines can run diagnostics, maintenance, and status checks on itself and its inhabitant. Everything is automated, and the inhabitant shouldn't wake up during this cycle."

"Volunteers," Tifa echoes.

"Volunteers. Rufus is _not_ his father."

"You put a lot of faith in him," she muses, eyeing the paper he slides across the table to her. It's plain white cardstock with bumpy, perforated edges-- nothing printed on it but a set of coordinates. She honestly expected a little more panache from Shinra Inc.

Tseng says, "Turks don't run on faith," and he slides off the stool to take his leave.

Tifa flips the card around, then turns it in her hands, re-reading the coordinates as Tseng straightens his jacket and adjusts his gloves. "What do you run on?" she murmurs, more to herself than him. She'll have to ask Cid where those numbers are meant to take them.

When she looks back up, he's got a look on his face that's not quite a smile. 

"A budget."

* * *

"I didn't know Turks were qualified to conduct medical procedures," Tifa says, discreetly adjusting her powder-blue scrubs to sit less awkwardly on her shoulders. Shinra had shelled out for the nice cloth kind, not bare paper, and Elena gives her a sympathetic look as she withdraws the needle she'd used to take a blood sample. She has Tifa press a square of gauze to the injection site, then hands her vial to Tseng.

Labeling it, Tseng slips the vial into some sort of machine and hits a button to begin the analysis. Rude tosses him a vial of Cloud's blood next (aerial transport clearly not SOP for any kind of medical environment), gently caught and sent after Tifa's.

"Honestly," Cloud says, warily eyeing Rufus's capsule, the machinery softly whirring halfway across the room as Rude takes his blood pressure, "I didn't even know you guys were still alive." 

Tseng and Rude exchange a look, silently filling in Reno's snide remark for themselves. The last member of their team isn't present to provide his own commentary, tasked with making one last round through an upper floor's capsule room. That one includes a few security personnel who've remained loyal to Shinra and were infected with Geostigma. The children are on a floor below, a level even better shielded than Rufus's. 

Two years of intermittent contact with Reeve wasn't enough to signal Rufus and the Turks' survival, evidently, though Tseng had been keeping tabs on AVALANCHE's movements. He'd been... disappointed, if not entirely surprised. The team that took down Sephiroth when Shinra operatives weren't able to should have amounted to more than an errand-runner, or a caretaker of orphans. Rufus had been able to consolidate his remaining assets and set them to work almost immediately, if only to help Reeve establish the WRO.

"The kids went under fine," Tifa says, addressing Elena this time, "but what about Cloud? SOLDIERs are built a little different, aren't they?"

"Research shows that mako enhancements actually make the process safer," Elena tells her cheerfully. "We think the mako in their bloodstream resonates particularly well with the materia, but it could just be that their physical condition in general is better."

"There wasn't time to do more research," Tseng adds, scanning a readout and entering the values into the console. "Blood analysis says both of you are clear."

Elena raises her hand, waiting on Tseng to acknowledge her with a nod. "Lockhart's blood pressure is a little high," she says, "sir. Only just within normal parameters."

"Probably stress," Rude offers, the first time he's spoken since they arrived. "Lots to take care of."

She flashes him a grateful smile, and then it's Elena's turn to catch Tseng's eye while their fellow Turk clears his throat and looks away so Tifa won't see his cheeks flush. 

_She's so cute!_ , Elena mouths, but she tames the mischievous flash of her teeth at a discreet shake of Tseng's head. Still, she doesn't miss the indulgent quirk of his lips as he opens two empty pods, now programmed with Tifa and Cloud's stats. 

They should be more suspicious, Tseng considers as Cloud and Tifa gingerly lower themselves into the capsules, since they don't _really_ know how the Turks function in relation to Rufus. But Tifa had only requested that the children be treated first, holding the Turks to their word, and then she'd sent the documentation to Reeve to confirm the engineering and safety precautions. As if Reeve Tuesti has never been the traitor in their midst.

Reno shoulders the door open while Tseng inserts an IV into the back of Cloud's hand and Elena does the same for Tifa. Neither of them react to the pinch of the needle, but both of their eyes snap to the new arrival.

"Yo," Reno says in greeting, immediately going to Rude to bump their shoulders. "Glad I didn't miss finally icing these two."

Tseng tapes down the plastic head of the IV and pulls back with the needle when Cloud makes an aborted motion to haul himself out of his capsule to go after Reno, prompting the other man to duck behind Rude. Gratified, Cloud sinks back in and obligingly extends his hand again for Tseng to attach the drip. He flashes a look that says, _You deal with this every day?_

"Tifa," Cloud says, drawing her attention away from Elena, who'd engaged Lockhart with some funny story about her time in the Shinra Military Academy. "I'll see you soon," he says, voice low and calm. 

It puts a smile on Tifa's face instantly, her eyes curved into little half-moons. "Of course."

In his periphery, Tseng catches a glimpse of Reno patting Rude's arm. 

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"Do it," says Cloud.

* * *

"We look silly," Elena announces, smoothing out the short sleeves of her own scrubs as she glances at each of her colleagues. They had all split briefly to change, then gathered up again the capsule room. "I feel naked."

"We're up," Tseng announces, setting out four more syringes before taking one and peeling it out of its sterile packaging. He picks a vein easily out of the back of his hand to insert the cannula, and neatly tapes it down. Elena hesitates a second longer than Reno or Rude, but after watching them insert their own IVs, gamely follows suit. 

Reno hops into his pod first, hooking up the drip with no trouble and pulling the hatch down. He presses his face up against the inside of the glass viewing window, making both Rude and Elena snort as they prepare their own capsules. He shouts a muffled _See you on the flipside!_ and hits the button to start the freeze.

Tseng makes one final round, playfully rapping his knuckles against Reno's window until he settles into the padded seat behind him. He flashes a thumbs up, then closes his eyes while the sedative begins to flow.

"Your spares are stowed with the rest of your gear," Tseng assures Rude as he approaches, and he claps the other man on his hard shoulder before they let go and Rude grabs his IV drip. He hits the button to start as he pulls down the hatch himself, and nods at Tseng as he goes under.

He approaches Elena last, stopping in front of her capsule while she wrestles with the IV tube, part of it having gotten wedged near a hinge. Tseng frees it silently, handing the end of it to her. "You know," he starts, "if you'd rather not--"

"I don't remember," she interrupts, lips pressing into a thin line, "you giving Reno and Rude a choice, sir."

"Just because they didn't take it," Tseng murmurs, "doesn't mean it wasn't open to them, Elena."

"What about you?" she challenges, eyes narrowing at him.

"I made my choice."

"And I made mine." Elena smiles at him, reassuring. Tseng had always prided himself on his poker-face, but over the last two years Elena's become more sensitive to the team's moods, and much better at reading them. "Besides," she adds, "Mr. Veld and my sister can take care of things while we're out. Don't worry about me, sir. I'll see you soon."

She extends her hand to him and he clasps it, giving a hard squeeze before they let go. For the first time, neither of them are wearing gloves. "Sleep well, Elena."

"You too, sir."

Tseng waits for the central console to indicate successful cryosleep for every inhabitant before he moves to his own capsule. He sits, secures the line, and hits the button to begin a sedative drip. 

The hatch closes.


	2. Chapter 2

He's hardly closed his eyes when Tseng opens them again, fighting back a stab of agitation. Had the machines malfunctioned? 

A glance at the digital clock flashing in the corner of the viewing window tells him that no, time had certainly passed. The numbers are a blur and there's light beyond the glass. When he lifts his hand to open the capsule, the movement is sluggish, his muscles weak. 

Someone saves him the trouble and wrenches his pod open. It's daytime, at least from what Tseng can tell of the light illuminating half the lab. The one who had opened his capsule grasps him by the upper arm and helps him pull himself out of the pod, steadying him with a large, brass hand until he reorients himself. Cryostasis-- even a short one-- usually results in some temporary memory loss, so he's not too concerned about the inability to summon a name, despite the overwhelming sense of familiarity.

There's another flash of red in his periphery, and Tseng turns his head toward it as his vision focuses. "Odd to see a Turk out of uniform," it comments, flaming tail whipping back and forth.

The first figure extends a clear, vacuum-packed plastic bag to him, a black suit sealed inside it. 

Right. Of course. 

"Valentine." Tseng coughs, his throat scratchy, voice rough. "And Red XIII."

"It's Nanaki, actually."

Tseng takes the package, tucking it under his arm as he turns to regard the rest of the lab. Part of the ceiling has caved in, scattering daylight throughout the facility while debris litters the floor. "The others?" he asks, and if Tseng didn't know better, he could swear that he sees the other man smile.

"In the process of being revived," Nanaki answers. "We thought that you would be able to keep them calm, if you were first."

"It'll take about forty minutes for them all to come to," Vincent offers.

"How long were we out of commission?" Tseng steps out of the scrub pants, counting on the length of his shirt to keep him somewhat decent as he pulls on the fitted slacks of his uniform. The material is heavy and smooth, but however long he'd spent in the capsule has left his skin dry and brittle; something to keep in mind when the others wake up. "What's the situation on Sephiroth and the Remnants?"

While he changes his shirt and loops his tie around his neck, Nanaki and Valentine share a look. It's not an encouraging one. 

Not waiting for an answer, Tseng moves to retrieve his belongings from the busted-open locker Valentine had taken his clothes from. He opens the other compartments with a passcode entered on a panel off to the side, revealing clothing packed similarly to his own. Each locker has its own set of armor, materia and weapons, properly sealed and stored before they were all put under.

"Maybe you should sit down," Nanaki suggests, but he falls silent, tail lashing, when Vincent gives him a resigned look. 

There's another long, uncomfortable silence as Tseng equips his gear and checks his handguns, holstering them under his arm and pulling his jacket on. He's supremely unruffled, the calm even more unnerving than if he were in a panic.

"It's been eighty-three years since you were first put into cryostasis," Vincent says. 

There's a clatter from the lockers, and Tseng bends down immediately to retrieve the phone that had slipped out of his hand, an expression of wide-eyed disbelief flashing across his face. He'd been gathering up the other Turks' supplies along with his own, but at least _this_ news takes him by surprise, and Vincent quirks a brow. "How long did you think the cryostasis lasted?" he asks.

"We were only due to be under for up to three years." Combing his fingers through his hair, Tseng just barely manages to suppress a grimace as his hand comes away with numerous strands tangled around his fingers. Side effects of cryostasis include hair loss along with lapses in memory, but he'd hoped that the materia would have kept that damage to a minimum. "There were people assigned to do the procedure," he adds, "once we were needed."

"It seems you weren't needed," Nanaki quips.

Vincent looks up, indicating the now-open ceiling with the tilt of his head. "How did you think this facility ended up with a skylight?"

Tseng blinks a few times. "Fallout from a battle with Sephiroth," he answers. "Or damage from another shielding maneuver by the Planet."

"That's reasonable," Nanaki murmurs. He flattens his ears against his head, shoulders hunched.

"It's been a few decades since we've had to think about that," Vincent adds.

Tseng mulls the situation over as he clips his studs into his ears, then tugs on his gloves. "You'll need to catch me up," he says.

* * *

Rufus has to be helped out of his capsule while the others suit up, unsteady and weak as a newly-hatched chocobo. Tseng whisks him to a private area, drawing the curtain for a modicum of discretion while he changes the dressings over Rufus's sores. Tseng didn't expect him to be miraculously cured upon their revival, and it hadn't seemed like more than a few hours since he'd last done this, but he's still disappointed to be peeling the bandages and gauze away from the oozing patches on his skin. 

Rufus bears it with his usual arrogant grace, refusing to lean on Tseng any more than necessary as the Turk cuts away and re-applies bandages on his arms from the kit he'd sealed with Rufus's other belongings.

"The situation?" Rufus prompts as Tseng ties off the last of the bandages. He can hear Vincent and Nanaki briefing the others, but not well enough for a detailed picture.

"This strain of Geostigma can be cured," Tseng says softly, "or at least that's what they've told me." He pretends not to notice the sharp jerk of Rufus's head at the news. "A few weeks after we went into cryostasis, Wallace and the others in his party managed to subdue the Remnants. A spring erupted in a church in the Sector 5 slums, and the water could eliminate Geostigma. Scientists with the WRO have managed to reproduce it, both as a treatment and as a vaccine."

Aerith's church, Tseng doesn't say, but they both know the one he's referring to.

The tension in Rufus's shoulders eases, and he moves gingerly to take off his hospital scrubs. Tseng takes over once he drops the shirt, gently peeling away old bandages and gauze from his ribs, his upper arms, the skin of his lower back. He cleans the sores with some kind of disinfectant, then sprays something on that stings at first, then fades to a cool balm. "That's good news," Rufus comments. "Was that it?"

"Yes. Keep your eyes open, sir." Tseng touches his chin next, tilting Rufus's head up, then sliding his hand up to firmly cup his jaw. The spray that hits his left eyeball next is both unexpected and painful; Rufus moves to jerk back but the fingers on him tighten and hold him still. He only barely manages to keep his other eye open long enough for a spritz as well. "I dosed you about ten minutes before you woke up," Tseng adds, letting go so Rufus can double over, heels of both hands pressed into his eyes, "and that was a topical spray to speed up the effect."

Just before they went under, there were multiple people in the world still terrified of causing Rufus Shinra any amount of discomfort, even for his own good; level-headed, fearless Tseng was never one of them. 

Early on in the Turk's assignment to Rufus, Dark Nation had gotten into the kitchen and fished a T-bone steak out of the garbage while terrified cooks tried desperately to reach her handler. She'd gotten the bone lodged between the teeth in the back of her mouth in the meantime, and Rufus himself had to be called in. With Rufus came the Turks. 

No amount of Sleep or Stop could penetrate her Barrier, and Veld had begun to discuss tranquilizing her in other ways with her handler. Rufus couldn't have been more than nineteen at the time, and he'd objected strongly to the suggestion of killing his pet for her handler's negligence, but Veld was about a minute away from calling the president for approval.

Veld had also stopped Rufus from stepping in personally, unsure as to whether or not a Guard Hound would recognize its master when it was frantic over an object embedded in its mouth, and in the brief lull between attempts to subdue her, Tseng had stepped forward. Dark Nation was familiar with him, which might have helped his case, but even Rufus was worried for the Turk's hand when he maneuvered the hound into a gentle headlock and reached directly into her mouth. His arm disappeared up to the elbow as he worked the bone free, and by the time he'd scritched behind her ear, dropped a slime-covered lumbar vertebra into the trash and wiped off his gloved hands, even Veld was agape.

Rufus would learn much later that at the time, Aerith was also caring for a dog that had limped into her church. Tseng dropped by often to help with food and medical supplies, young and naive enough to think that assisting her would make her more malleable to the idea of returning to Shinra. It didn't work, but Reno loves that story, telling it to every rookie who joined the Turks-- at least until Tseng's promotion.

Rufus never could get that incident out of his mind, especially when Tseng was in the process of doing something extremely unpleasant yet theoretically for his benefit. He doesn't swear often, but he softly curses Tseng under his breath while the other man starts cleaning up the garbage around them, dumping used supplies from a sterile tray into a little biomedical waste bag. When Rufus looks back up, squinting, the haziness is already fading from his eyes. 

"Enough for Strife as well?" Rufus asks, and he misses the slow, minute quirk of Tseng's lip. No Shinra has ever been in the habit of thinking about _others_. 

"Mmh."

"Good." Rufus squeezes his eyes shut again, brows furrowing in discomfort as the spray works on him. He accepts the undershirt that Tseng presses into his hand, pulling it on after feeling for the sewn-in tag on the collar. "The Remnants?"

"Escaped before they could be terminated, and they've been dormant since." Shirt next, the fabric silky but cool as Rufus pulls it on. He fastens it blind as well, making quick work of the buttons. Tseng continues his report, the smooth cadence of his voice setting Rufus at ease almost without intending to. "I hear the Planet itself supported AVALANCHE's move against them, which is how the equipment in this facility was damaged."

Rufus's turn to smile. 

Despite Tseng's loyalty to Shinra and how he'd outwardly repeat the company line, he never fully bought into the Promised Land narrative. Maybe for a few years in their teens but after meeting Aerith he'd let go of the idea. Rufus himself, having been one of AVALANCHE's early sources of funding, wasn't exactly _opposed_ to their suggestions. He wasn't ignorant to the dying vegetation in mako-saturated regions, or the odd mutations that seemed to crop up in children born in the Midgar slums. "And that's why we were frozen for eighty years instead of three?" he suggests.

"Otherwise, the automatic timer would have brought us out of cryostasis."

"What the hell was I paying all those scientists for," Rufus sighs, accepting the white trousers Tseng passes him next, "if they were just going to let us waste away in here?"

Tseng presses his lips into a thin line and turns around to give Rufus a modicum of privacy as he changes, disapproval radiating off him in waves. "If you'll recall my offer to stay unfrozen in case something like this happened..."

"And let you out-age me? Not a chance."

"Mr. President--"

"Why now?" Rufus interrupts. "Did someone finally remember we were here?"

"Geostigma's made a reappearance." Tseng faces him again, ducking his head slightly to regard the clearer blue of Rufus's irises. He holds up two fingers in a 'V' and smiles with a restrained yet keen relief when Rufus mirrors the gesture. "Similar progression of symptoms," he explains, "but not curable with the treatments that worked the first time around. Valentine says that the WRO thinks the Remnants could be preparing for a comeback."

"Do you think they left us here for so long in case something like this happened?"

"It's a possibility."

"Eighty-three years."

The curtain to the changing area pulls back abruptly, Reno ducking into the claustrophobic space with them. "Maybe they forgot about us," he quips. "Yo, boss. Mr. President."

Tseng makes room for him with a long-suffering sigh. "Reno."

"My memory's a little fuzzy," Reno drawls, tapping his index finger against his temple, "but we were planning a trip out to the Northern Crater before the President's condition took a nosedive. That still in the books? The Remnants are probably gunning for Jenova cells again."

"We triangulated a likely position before we went under," Tseng answers, "but we'll have to look at weather patterns in the area to estimate the site of our next move. Let's hope there are records dating back that far."

Both of them look to Rufus; expectant, attentive. His eyesight isn't completely recovered yet, and despite the fading pain neither has his physical condition after months of bedrest. Still, two of his Turks standing at attention is a sight for (literally) sore eyes. "Start consolidating resources," Rufus tells them. "We'll need a base of operations, upgraded armor, weapons, communications equipment, vehicles... See what happened to that trust I set up with the WRO, and find out what's left of ShinRa Electric. Do your phones still work?"

"No signals." Reno shrugs. "Valentine doesn't have a phone and I don't think the dog uses one, either."

"Did those two," Rufus asks, gesturing with his chin to Valentine and Nanaki, "arrange transportation?"

"They came on foot," Tseng answers delicately.

Rufus blinks at Tseng many times. 

"The nearest town will take about two days to reach," Tseng says, audibly fighting back a laugh. "I'll have Reno and Rude secure a vehicle."

"We don't have time for that. I'll come with you."

"Mr. President--"

Rufus stands, heaving himself out of the seat to take his jacket from where Tseng had draped it over the back of a chair. Internally, he congratulates himself for staying on his feet without toppling over from the exertion. "I'm feeling better already."

"Reno," Tseng says, glancing at his second-in-command, "take Elena. Secure the bottom level and report back."

"Copy that."

* * *

Tifa's reunion with Nanaki has him on his hind legs, paws on her shoulders and Tifa's face and hands buried in the ruff of fur around his neck. He's about half again as large as the last time she saw him, his fur a darker, more muted red. He was an adolescent during the incident with Sephiroth, and in the intervening years had become a full-grown adult with a barrel chest and even more brands on his fur.

Strife greets Vincent with a nod, neither of them prone to overt displays of affection, and they both wait on Tifa to release Nanaki from her hold. 

In the meantime, Tseng beckons Rude up the stairs to scout their exit. Both of them balk momentarily when Rufus joins them, but they capitulate to his steely _'Are you telling me I can't conduct an inspection?'_ and watch as he gingerly makes his way up the steps. Neither of them move to help him-- small mercies, and possibly the knowledge that Rufus would eviscerate them for trying-- but Rude brings up the front and Tseng hovers behind, both of them close enough to reach him if he stumbles.

"That," Rude comments as they reach the top of the stairs, "doesn't look good."

Tseng didn't expect the situation to be ideal-- the facility ended up with a _skylight_ , after all-- but he didn't expect the sheer chaos of the sight that greets them, either. Rufus brushes past Rude to step more fully into the room, blinking against the sunlight. He goes to one wall, stepping around the massive hole in the floor, and shifts away a small concrete slab. Rude joins him without being prompted to help him clear the space further, and Tseng as well once he confirms that nothing is hiding in the dark spaces waiting to ambush them.

Reno, Elena and the rest of AVALANCHE arrive just as they finish, six shattered capsules lining the wall before them. Elena hovers briefly beside him, making a soft, sympathetic sound. None of the Turks have had time to greet each other properly yet before jumping right back into the work; though from their perspectives, it hadn't even been an hour since they'd last seen each other.

"They're dead," Rufus murmurs, kneeling to catch his breath. He looks down at his hands, fingertips raw from a combination of the cryostasis and the excavation. 

"That could've been us," Tifa sighs, sounding terribly heartbroken at the sight, and Cloud's fists clench. 

"Or the kids," Cloud says.

"Our room was better shielded than this one," Tseng dispassionately corrects. "And the children, as promised, even moreso."

"And now," says Reno with a shrug, inspecting a dessicated body inside the nearest pod, "we won't have to babysit a bunch of civvies."

Cloud looks at Tseng, brows furrowing. "We're just leaving a bunch of orphans in the middle of nowhere?"

"Once we secure transportation and supplies, we'll come back for them." Looking at Tifa, who's worried but nonetheless seems to get the point, Tseng gestures at the staircase leading out of the facility altogether. "Unless you want to walk forty miles wth a dozen hungry and tired children, I suggest you leave this part to us."

"I suppose," she answers.

"We cast Barriers on all the kids' pods," Elena pipes up, gently catching Tifa's elbow. "They'll be perfectly safe until we can retrieve them."

"Priority one," Rude chimes in.

That nets them both a grateful smile, and Tifa relaxes into Elena's touch. Tseng catches Elena's eye, quirking one brow. _Guess you're assigned to Lockhart,_ the expression says, and she returns the look with a determined little nod.

"Okay," says Reno. "Let's mosey."


	3. Chapter 3

Late afternoon finds the entire company assembled in front of the entrance of the facility, Rufus perched on a piece of debris while the Turks and Cloud bring up scavenged supplies from inside the lab. The Turks have all shed their jackets at this point, black fabric piled up near Rufus as he sips from a little tin camping cup of water. Tifa's perched near him on a fallen log, one arm folded across her knees, cheek resting on her wrist, and the other hand idly stroking the fur on Nanaki's back.

"What I don't understand," she says softly, "is why they left the kids in there, too. I thought that as soon as a cure was available, they would've been taken out."

"I may be able to provide some background on that." Nanaki's voice rumbles down his spine. "The Remants attacked before we had a chance to wake you, and when they were defeated, they went dormant. There was the strong possibility they would return, and Barret said that there was no guarantee anyone could beat them when they showed up again." 

"He made the decision to keep you all in cryostasis," Vincent chimes in, "but Reeve and the rest of us agreed as well."

"The WRO monitored the Planet closely for the last few decades," says Nanaki, and then he sits up a little straighter, jowls drawing back in a rough approximation of a smile, "with some help from yours truly. With a new strain of Geostigma and unrest in the Lifestream, we thought that it was time. There are strong fighters out there, but no one who can match you and Cloud anymore. It seems Barret made the right choice."

That makes Tifa sigh, and she scritches the base of Nanaki's tail. "It's been peaceful, hasn't it?"

"It has."

"I wish they could've experienced that."

In her periphery, Rufus shifts. He stretches his shoulders, then leans back on one hand. Compared to the man she'd encountered on the roof of Shinra Tower, and the one she saw on TV, he seems smaller-- lanky without his jacket, and even the clothing that must have been specifically tailored for him a size or two too large for his frame. He looks at her, frosty blue eyes narrowed behind his fringe. "The orphans, you mean?"

"Who else would I mean?" Tifa shoots back.

"It's better this way," he answers matter-of-factly. "There was no one waiting for them even if they were revived eighty years ago."

"Well," she says, "I don't think anyone asked you." 

Nanaki puts his paw on her knee, but there's a soft shake of his shoulders where he must be fighting back a laugh.

"I just meant that if you're worried about them," Rufus says, disgruntled now, "I think they'd be glad to see a familiar face." He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw sliding forward in annoyance. He looks away and back toward the facility, watching Rude and Reno emerge with bulging, distended backpacks slung on their shoulders. 

_Oh_ , Tifa thinks, exchanging a sheepish look with Nanaki, _was that Rufus Shinra trying to comfort me?_

Rufus huffs, now steadfastly ignoring her.

 _Well,_ she decides, _he could've been more polite about it!_

Elena dashes up the stairs once Reno and Rude move aside, stepping into the light and holding the door for Tseng and Cloud as the two of them maneuver some kind of cart through the entrance. Vincent brings up the rear, hefting a ring of keys up and down in his palm. 

"Status update," Rufus says as Reno and Rude approach. He tosses each of them their jackets, then Tseng's and Elena's as the other two catch up. 

"Well," Elena pipes up, "we're pretty sure we can get Strife's bike working, but the parts are so rusted out that it won't go much faster than a walk."

"But it can haul supplies," says Tseng, eyeing Rufus thoughtfully. No doubt considering the possibility that Rufus won't be able to walk the entire distance, though he's too polite to say so and Rufus knows himself well enough that constantly flagging the party down to rest would look even worse. 

"Got some tents, some potions, equipment..." Reno trails off, gesturing toward the cart. "Actually kinda wild how much of that stuff still works."

"Food?" prompts Rufus.

"Yeeeeeah, those MREs are about... seventy-eight years expired." Expressive as ever, Reno sticks out his tongue and grimaces. "I opened one up and swear to Gaia there's a little civilization just inventing the wheel in there. Left 'em to it."

"Nauseating," Rufus comments. "Thank you, Reno."

Reno snaps off a cheeky two-fingered salute.

"Don't sweat that too much. I see some greens growing around here, and these tracks." Cloud scuffs his boot on the ground, indicating a few deep scratches in the dirt. "Things get desperate, we can always catch a few chocobo." 

He registers the horrified look Rufus levels at him with a scoff. Man will drop into a fight with a sawed-off shotgun ready to use it on living humans, but the idea of eating chocobo scandalizes him?

"Chocobos?" Elena echoes, equally wide-eyed. Rude's unreadable behind his shades, but Reno's look of fascination grates on Cloud's nerves.

"To _ride_ ," he clarifies. "It takes a chocobo half a day to run from here to Junon. Food wouldn't be an issue."

"Well," Tseng quips, "you can eat them, too." He meets Rufus's stare with an impassive quirk of his brow. 

Nanaki shakes his head, sniffing at the tracks before raising his snout to the air and inhaling a lungful of that, too, trying to catch a whiff of chocobo in the wind. He bares his teeth, the expression of a hunter that has absolutely eaten a chocobo. Possibly several. "What's the saying? They taste like chicken?"

"The amount of work it takes to raise a chocobo to adulthood usually means they're more valuable as labor than as food," Tseng says matter-of-factly, "not to mention how much a racing chocobo can be sold for. That may have changed in the last few decades, considering they were already being phased out as transportation when we went under."

"It has," Vincent answers. "Time marches on, and those that have no use fade into obsolescence."

"Wild chocobo herds are actually becoming something of a problem," Nanaki supplies helpfully in the awkward few seconds after Valentine's statement. He stretches, lowering his chest to the ground and arching his spine, claws digging into the earth as his toes flex. "Many small farms went out of business as inter-city transportation moved to rail, and rather than cull their herds, they released them instead. I'm not complaining about it, but the competition can be a bit of a pain."

"Oh," says Tifa. "They have plenty of food in the wild, and the domestic breeds reproduce pretty quick. Most of them aren't aggressive like true wild chocobos, so they get eaten, and other monsters in the area get a population boost."

"Yes, actually."

"It happened a few times around our hometown," Cloud explains at the perplexed looks turned on Tifa, from all but one. 

Tseng brushes his hands off on the seat of his pants and eyes their surroundings, already decently familiar with the ecological impact of chocobo farms and irresponsible breeding practices. The facility had been a simple single-floor structure extending deep underground on a flat plain; now, it's sequestered in a thicket of young trees. Decent cover from anything that might come at them from a distance, but obscuring those same potential threats. 

Reno notices his distraction first, instantly wary. His nightstick, miraculously still in working condition after a quick zap with his Bolt materia, swings idly in his grip. He flanks Tseng with a practiced ease, drawing attention to neither of them as he leans in to ask, "What's up, chief?"

"Getting late," Tseng observes, dark eyes scanning the dimming skyline.

"Campout?"

"Possibly."

Rude and Elena look over, both of them attuned to their respective partners. Tseng prompts them to gather up with a discreet gesture, and quickly briefs them. None of them question his decision not to pass the plan by Rufus; Turks are loyal to each other, and Tseng is the uncontested leader of the Turks. Rufus has deferred to him on matters of security for well over a decade at this point.

Reno and Rude melt into the deepening shadows of the woods around them the moment they're dismissed, while Elena and Tseng expertly split Rufus from the rest of the party. Their ex-president is self-aware, for the most part, but the knowledge that he's the most fragile of their group clearly chafes. Rufus had always taken pride in being able to keep up with his Turks, enduring the grueling regimen that they all kept, but Diamond Weapon's attack on Midgar and Geostigma had left him almost entirely dependent on their assistance for two years.

Retrieving his shotgun from their pile of equipment, Tseng hands it over to Rufus, who stations himself near the edge of the encampment as Nanaki and Vincent get to building a fire. Tifa and Cloud split off as well, the former cracking her knuckles as they stride into the woods, in the opposite direction of Reno and Rude. AVALANCHE's combat experience shows here more than anywhere else that Tseng had observed-- the instinctive buddy systems that form in an unfamiliar scenario.

"Thanks," Rufus says, so softly Tseng almost doesn't register it, "for letting me look useful." He flashes a wry smile, rolling a few shotgun shells in his palm before deftly loading the weapon. He's no slouch with it, even now, but the thought of actually having to use it makes his shoulder twinge. He hasn't kept up with target practice in all the mess of recovering from Diamond Weapon's attack, then Geostigma.

"Well," Tseng answers, hands clasped politely behind his back, "making you look cool _is_ in my job description."

Rufus huffs, then glances over his shoulder while Tseng keeps an eye on the tree line. He watches Elena hold a stick in the flame of Nanaki's tail until it catches fire, and then toss it onto the pile of wood they've stacked in a hastily-dug hole.

* * *

By nighttime, they've got a setup that could almost be called _cozy_ , plucked and portioned Zemzelett pieces sizzling alongside Tantal Greens in skillets set in the fire. Tifa and Cloud had killed the Zemzelett, cleaned it, then broken it down. They were also responsible for the greens, which none of the Turks would have been able to recognize as edible.

Tifa sits propped up against Nanaki's side, his powerful bulk curled around her back. She folds her arms over her knees and leans forward to ask, "Is anyone still around?"

"Marlene's wrangling her own gaggle of orphans now," Nanaki answers, chin resting on his folded paws. "Still spry! The children in stasis will have a place with her."

"Yuffie retired as Prime Minister of Wutai last year," Vincent offers. 

" _After_ restoring Wutai as a social and economic superpower." Pointed ears twitching in amusement, Nanaki raises his head to add, "Sometimes you can still hear echoes of 'hey, where's my materia!' in the Foreign Affairs building."

Cloud waits for Tifa's laughter to fade, not immune himself to the thought of Yuffie having grown into a political and cultural leader for her country and _still_ relieving tourists of their materia, even as an old woman. "What happened to the others?" he asks, finally, keeping his tone light. 

"Cid put a man in space, and brought him back safely." Nanaki flicks his tail. "Namely, himself." 

Vincent speaks up this time, eyes red and glittering with the reflection of the fire. "The WRO's space program has satellites orbiting all around the Planet now," he says, solemn and quiet, "and there's a station scheduled for assembly next year. He missed it by about a decade, but every piece of technology up there is based on Cid's designs."

"Barret?" 

"Settled down with a nice man from Costa del Sol to raise Marlene. Went peacefully in his sleep fifteen years ago."

Tifa sniffs, sinking further into the soft fur of Nanaki's side. They had met briefly before going under; Tifa's last memory of Barret is his face, warm brown eyes and the thoughtful quirk of his lip as he reassured her that he and the others had things under control. She idly plays with a tuft of Nanaki's mane, face turned away from the others. "I wish we could've seen them again," she says. "We didn't even get a chance to say goodbye."

"Shinra Electric and the WRO are phasing out coal and mass-installing solar infrastructure," Nanaki tells her, gently. "The transition has been relatively quick and painless, because of work he did. You'll feel their presence everywhere."

From his place near where Tseng is sitting, Vincent nudges the other Turk's shoulder with the back of his claw hand. "No questions?"

Tseng considers his words for a few seconds. Then: "Veld?"

"Consulted for the WRO's intelligence division. Ambushed in Junon a few years after you went into stasis. Felicia is still doing well."

The life of a Turk is-- was-- notoriously short, and it was generally expected to end violently. That Veld could have _almost_ lived to qualify for senior citizens' discounts is commendable, in its own way. Tseng nods, impassive. "And the others?"

"My sister?" Elena asks.

"The other ex-Turks have been a little more elusive than our adventuring party," Nanaki tells them. All four Turks present share a smile, momentarily shaken out of their pensive mood to appreciate the discretion and paranoia of their old colleagues. "But Cissnei was head of Shinra's General Affairs division after Veld."

Vincent, to Tseng: "She would've made you proud."

"She already has," Tseng murmurs.

Reno speaks up, lounging with his back against a fallen log, one long arm slung behind it and the other resting lightly on his nightstick. "How's she doing now?" he asks, inflecting his voice with a familiar nonchalance, but the wary flicker of his gaze between Vincent's face and Tseng's gives him away. 

"Went to ground after retirement," says Vincent, "same as the others, so I honestly couldn't tell you."

Rude cocks his head to the side, eyes hidden behind his shades. "Do we dig them up?" 

"No." The idea of seeing them again makes Tseng smile, though the thought of shattering their old friends' hard-won peace doesn't appeal to him, if they're even still alive. They'd run into the entire contingent at Meteorfall, not so long ago in his memory, and at least for Tseng, it's enough. The others will follow his example. "Our return should shake them out. They'll come to us if they want to."

* * *

They take watch in shifts, at least one of Cloud's party and one Turk awake at all times throughout the night. There's not much cause for suspicion left between them and not many monsters in the area, but old habits die hard. Nanaki waits just outside the circle they'd made around the fire, the glowing brand of his tail tucked under his belly. He has his paws folded under him, eyes narrowed in contentment, forming a rectangular silhouette in the dark. 

Tseng approaches Rude silently, crouching beside the other man where he sits and waiting to be acknowledged with a soft, "Hey."

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine." Rude had taken off his shades once the fire dimmed down to embers, though he'd wondered briefly if he didn't have to; the sky is clear, the moon bright. He can even pick out some of the features of Tseng's face. "Been better," he says. It's more than he'd volunteer with anyone but Reno; of course, Reno isn't really the type to ask. 

Tseng, on the other hand, never really _needs_ to ask. He seems tuned in to the way his subordinates feel on any given day with a deliberate, careful consideration. Not Rude's style, exactly; at once smoother and more distant. Rude will take his friends out for drinks, offer a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic listening ear. Tseng will discreetly schedule an extra break, a breezy assignment in Costa del Sol, lunch delivered to a desk from a favorite restaurant. 

Drop in next to Rude in the middle of the night with, "You had family in Junon and Costa del Sol."

Rude sighs. "Still might."

"Do you need time to find out?"

He'd honestly been trying not to think too hard about that; setting aside his personal life for the sake of his job is old hat by now, though Rude had at least made an attempt to maintain ties with his family. "I don't know them anymore," he says evenly. There'd be no point to reconnecting with people who'll have long forgotten about him, anyway. "My baby niece probably has a kid who's our age by now." 

Tseng makes a thoughtful sound, sympathetic and understanding. Rude glances at his face, and the other Turk's eyes are somewhere else entirely-- scanning the treeline, noting the positions of the rest of the party. When he finally looks back, he catches and holds Rude's gaze. "Families aren't easy to come by," he says softly. 

"Trying to get rid of me?" Rude murmurs back, his lip quirking. 

"This isn't an order." For all his professionalism and obfuscation in the field, Tseng never was much for speaking in code or implication, especially around other Turks. "I'll need you at your best," he says, "so while we have the luxury of time, I'd recommend that you take it to figure out what resources you still have access to."

Shifting to make space, Rude crosses his arms over his chest as Tseng finally sits. He didn't, as far as he knows, have any family in Midgar, so they would've been spared from the brunt of Diamond WEAPON's assault. The party's headed to Junon already, and Costa del Sol is just a boat ride away; besides, Tseng's not wrong to think that it would be weighing on him. "The others?"

"Will have to settle for me until you're back."

"I'll go." Rude huffs at the thought of Tseng having to wrangle Rufus, Reno, Elena, _and_ whatever's left of the AVALANCHE contingent all on his own. He's more than capable of it, and the other Turks are qualified operatives who respect his leadership-- even so, both of them know that he'll sorely miss Rude's quiet equanimity. "Won't be long," Rude adds.

"Take as much time as you need," Tseng tells him. It wouldn't hurt to have a Turk on standby in Costa del Sol, even if he were to be delayed on his way back. "I'll make sure you're outfitted before you go."

"Thanks, Tseng."

Nodding once, Tseng reaches for some twigs from the pile by his feet and tosses a few into the embers, stoking the flame back to life. "I'll take the rest of this shift," he says. "Get some rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> red xiii loaf.....

**Author's Note:**

> Their ages are the ones given in the Remake continuity, but events should otherwise (more or less) follow OGC and the rest of the already-established compilation.


End file.
